


Sometimes Love is Just Crayons

by augopher



Series: The Things We Make, We Make With Love [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Art therapist Stiles, Childhood Friends, Derek Hale & Erica Reyes Friendship, Derek can't do art, Derek talks about his family, Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage/Statutory Rape, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Married Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Married Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Passive Aggressive Bullying, Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, PhD student Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, gender variant character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With their wedding only days away, Stiles helps Derek get a lot off his chest. The wedding turns out perfect, and Stiles gets a heartfelt gift from Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Screw the Seating Chart

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one there is some vague discussion of Derek and Kate's relationship and the fact she was an adult and he wasn't. It is not explicit in detail at all. It's scene 2 of chapter one

Derek sat at his kitchen table. Surrounding him were dozens of cardstock circles each marked with a number and many more but smaller squares. He stared at the piece of paper in front of him, the words ‘Seating Chart’ glaring at him from the top of the sheet.

He’d been working on this for hours. Honestly, he had no idea where he thought Deputy Graeham and her husband should sit. Who the hell Mr. and Mrs. Sturm were, also elluded him. He’d managed three tables.

The head table had been easy.

Of course, he and Stiles would sit in the middle. Sitting on either side of them were, on Stiles' side, Scott then Kira and his friend Heather, and for his side,  Erica sat next to him with Boyd beside her, and then Isaac to fill up the table.

Next, came table number one. At this table, sat Stiles’ dad and Melissa, his grandparents, Akiko and Stephen (who insisted on sitting next to Aggie). Table two was reserved for Mrs. Walters, Allison, and the Gutierrez's.

The rest of the tables drew a giant blank from him. Why had he agreed to handle this particular aspect of wedding planning? Surely, this was something Stiles would rather do.

Frustrated, he turned his attention to the second sheet of paper, the diagram for the ceremony. He couldn’t help but feel a little sick to his stomach as he thought about Stiles’ side of the garden being filled with loved ones both friends and.... family. Of the two hundred guests (“ _One hundred eighty-seven, Derek. Weren’t you paying attention_?’), only ten would be there for him.

A dull ache started to burn in the pit of his stomach, and by time it reached his heart, it had grown into a roaring wildfire. He rubbed at his chest, trying to massage away the sudden pang of grief before overwhelmed him. However, the emotion, as many were, was a demanding one, and when it hit, it tended to hit hard. Derek propped his elbows up on the table and let his head fall into his hands.

They’d missed so much over the years, and now his family was about to miss another one. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t finish this pathetic attempt at a seating arrangement, couldn’t look at the ceremony diagram, because all he could see was the front row of chairs on his side. The ones that should be filled with the smiling faces of his family there to celebrate one of the happiest days of his life with him. They’d be empty; they were always empty.

Before he could stop himself, a wave of anger, white hot, tore through him, and he stood, his chair falling backwards and crashing to the tile. He shoved at the mess on the table, flinging it all over the kitchen. They were gone, and it was his fault. He ran both hands through his hair, before, chest heaving, he stumbled into the wall and slid down to the floor.

Fat tears ran down his streaks as his mind filled with unwelcome memories of smoke and screams. His chest tightened; he felt dizzy, and before he knew it, he had succumbed to grief, his body shaking with broken sobs.

 

****

 

Stiles’ scowl had deepened on the drive home, a drive in which he was pretty sure he spent speeding and breaking other traffic laws. He could actually feel his blood boiling. How dare someone- Just-

“Fuck!” he shouted in the private confines of his SUV as he pulled to a stop in the garage. Muscles straining against his skin and nostrils flared, he took a few deep breaths in an attempt to cleanse his mind of the rage within it. He had no desire to bring this anger home. It wasn’t Derek’s fault. So why should he take it out on him?

“People like you make me sick,” Stiles mocked in a whining voice, his mind going over the strong wording of that disgusting note he’d found taped to his windshield, so it could be read from inside the car.

 

Like he hadn’t been told he’d rot in hell enough because of his sexual orientation. Bad enough to leave the note in the first place, but they had to stick it dead in the middle of the windshield, too far for him to reach to pull the damn thing off. Even on tiptoe, standing inside the car, try as he might, he couldn’t reach.

Why not? Because the bastard, most likely masquerading around in the name of social justice warrior, put it down by the wipers. It was almost like they wanted to make it worse by forcing him to climb on his hood to remove it.

News flash, asshole (asshole who misspelled impaired by the way), he couldn’t climb anymore.

He’d tried, and received a bruised tailbone for his efforts as he slipped and fell to the ground. So their attempt to shame an inconsiderate able-bodied person into never using he space again, only served to humiliate him.

In frustration, he’d kicked the tire with his pathetic excuse of a left foot, cursing it aloud. He wanted to make sure the uncooperative body part knew how much he hated it. Then, while he shook with quiet rage, contemplating cutting the leg off with his Swiss Army knife, he waited until someone else came out of the diner so he could ask for help, which he received with a healthy portion of pity. He didn’t fucking want pity, he wanted to find the jerk and give them a piece of his mind. Perhaps key their car and slash their tires.

Now that he was home and no longer seething, Stiles exited the vehicle, grabbing the bags of craft supplies he’d purchased before dinner from the trunk. The house was quieter than usual, which he thought strange, until he remembered Stevie was at Amy’s house for a sleepover to quote ‘do top-secret wedding present making while playing dress-up, no daddies allowed’ unquote.

“Hey, Derek! I’m back. I hope we still have whiskey, because I had a shitty day,” he called, loud enough to be heard from most anywhere in the house. “You up for a movie tonight?”

When he didn’t receive an answer, he first thought that maybe Derek was in the shower, but a quick trip upstairs told him that not only was he not showering, he wasn’t asleep either. His fiance couldn’t be out for a run, because his sneakers were by the door. “Where the hell-” He stopped his mumbling when he saw Derek sitting on the floor in the dining room, his head buried in his folded arms atop his knees. Scattered all around him on the floor were the seating charts and venue floor plans. Before he said a word, he stood there listening to the broken, muffled sobs.

With the usual Stilinski grace (AKA: None), Stiles plopped down on the floor in front of him. “Słoneczko,” he said as he gently pulled Derek’s arms away from his face, “what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do the seating chart, Stiles.” Derek looked up, and his tear-stained face damn near broke Stiles’ heart. “I don’t know any of those people. Almost anyone I know and care about is either sitting at the head table, the table with your family and Stevie, or will fill one other table. That leaves me with almost two hundred other people to stick together, and I don’t- I sat there staring at those charts for hours. I got nowhere. So then, I turned my attention to the ceremony…” He pitched forward and let his forehead rest on Stiles’ shoulder.

“This isn’t cold feet is it?” Stiles laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but when Derek’s pained chuckled turned back into a sob, he backpedaled. “I was kidding. You know what? Screw the seating chart. I don’t even think we need one. I’ll just stick a reserved card for the family tables and call it a day.”

His fingers clenched on to the fabric of Stiles’ shirt; he cried into Stiles’ neck, “It’s not cold feet. I’m sad. I miss my family.”

Oh. This had nothing to do with seating charts at all. “Aww,” Stiles cradled the back of Derek’s head, “I know you do. It’s not something that ever goes away.”

“They should have been there eight years ago. They should be here now. They’ve missed everything. I should be able to show them I made it. I got better.”

Stiles didn’t quite follow, but figured it wasn’t the time to ask for clarification. “I know. I know.” When the rigid tension of Derek’s body bled out of him, his full weight leaned into Stiles, almost knocking him over in the process.

“The memorial candle for the first chair...one- it’s not enough. One chair is just not big enough for twelve people.”

“Do you want the entire front row on your side to be empty?” Derek nodded into his chest. “We can do that. Easy fix, Derek. The candles are all battery operated- I thought you’d appreciate the safety of them. I can get more at the craft store.”

 

Derek sat up and wiped his eyes. There were things he needed to talk about. He could do this. Sure, he’d never spoken to anyone about it, but if there was ever going to be someone he could say it to, it would be Stiles. Standing, he didn’t say a word, just grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him into the living room. Before he could sit down, Stiles flopped onto the couch and patted his thigh. This, well this move brought a small smile to his lips. As he lay down, stretched out across the sofa, Stiles curled his fingers in his hair, flexing them back and forth across his scalp.

“What? No nuzzling into my hand like the big puppy you are?”

He scrubbed his hands down his face. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, and humor is your way of doing that, but can you...not make jokes right now? Please?”

Stiles grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips. “Okay.”

“I need to talk to you about some stuff. Not about us. It’s nothing bad- just, I never brought up the fire or anything, and I need to.”

“Only if you think you need to. I was never going to ask if-”

He reached up and poked Stiles in the nose. “I know you wouldn’t.” He licked his lips and began, “I met Kate when I was fifteen. She was an intern at my mother’s law firm. She was beautiful and the reason I never dated a blonde after her.”

“Intern? Like to look good on a college application?”

“No.” He looked up at Stiles to see his face twisted in pained concern.

“Oh, Kochanie. How old was she?”

“Twenty-three. I know. I know that now, but at fifteen- God, I thought it was awesome that this college girl would talk to me. She knew all the right words to say to have me smitten. I thought she loved me; I honestly did. But there were only a couple spots for paid positions among the ten interns. She thought that if she could get me to put in a good word with my parents,” he took a deep shuddering breath, “she used me. My mom caught us one day and called the cops, but I begged my mom not to press charges. I was in love; I was a dumb kid. What did I know? My mom was right, though. But Kate had no record, no reason for the police to think she was a flight risk. So they released her on bail, and she went right to my family’s house. Laura and I were at school, because I had a basketball game. It went to overtime, and that’s why I wasn’t home.”

“So she didn’t cheat on you, like you said before?” Stiles asked stroking Derek’s hair.

“No, that’s just what I tell people. It’s hard to admit what happened, especially around men. I always tense up whenever those stories end up on the news about female teachers having relationships with their students. When I hear the snickering about how ‘When I was a teen, I would have loved if a hot older woman was into me,’ it guts me. Because I _was_ that kid, and I _did_ like it at the time. I hate that I liked it.” He shrugged. “Hormones, the fucking bastards. My parents hadn’t talked about it with the rest of the family yet, so Laura had no idea, and I couldn’t tell her everyone else was dead because of me.”

“No. Derek, they’re dead because of Kate.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s fault it was. They’re still dead,” he said, lip quivering, and wiped his eyes again. “Laura was a freshman in college at the time. I don’t know if I told you about that.”

 Stiles shifted on the seat beneath his head. “Yeah, you did.”

 “Well, she tried. God, how she tried. She went to all the required classes in order to retain custody of me, but I didn’t make it easy. You remember how quiet I was when we first met?”

 “Quiet?” Stiles scoffed. “Getting you to talk was like pulling teeth.”

 “Well, however quiet I was then...right after the fire I was way worse. You really would have liked Laura. She had this way of getting people to like her, instantly. Her laugh, it was infectious, and she tried to see the good in everyone. She could talk her way out of trouble like it was nothing. One day, she tried to do that with the wrong person.” Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over before he could dash them away. “She should have just given the guy her purse.” It was several minutes before he could get another word out. “I can’t believe I managed to make it this far without talking to anyone about this. Therapy would have helped.”

 “Come on.” Stiles pushed out from under him, and dragged him off the couch. Derek landed on the floor in an unceremonious heap. “Sorry. You’re...really heavy, Derek.”

 “What? What are you doing?”

 “Therapy. I’ll have you know, your PhD student and future psychologist husband is a licensed art therapist and an all around crafty guy.”

 “You told me I was bad at crafts. You’re not my husband for another five days,” and with those words, Derek couldn’t help but smile and pull Stiles into a hug.

 “I know; I can’t wait either,” he said, planting a soft kiss on his mouth, “but this will be good for you.”

 “ _You’re_ good for me.”

 “Yes, yes I am. Don’t you forget it.” He grabbed the copy of one of the floorplans for the venue off the floor and flipped it over on the table. “Sit, please. I’ll be right back.”

 When Stiles returned holding Stephen’s box of crayons, Derek actually, giggled, honest to God giggled. “What are those for? I can’t draw.”

 “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen your handiwork. It doesn’t matter, Babe. Just...I want you to take this paper and a crayon... _one_ crayon, and show me grief.”

 “What?”

 “Close your eyes and think about it. For you, what color is grief?”

 Derek licked his lips, and eyes still closed, scoffed, but it was more in disgust for himself not Stiles. “Yellow.”

 “Okay. Color the paper yellow. Really go to town. Color the whole paper if you want.”

 So, he did, and when he was done, he expected Stiles to declare the exercise over, but it wasn’t. “Now, what color is sadness?”

 Derek searched the box--152 colors? Really? When he was eight they had twenty-four tops--until he found the grey crayon, and he haphazardly scribbled on the page. When he stopped, Stiles covered his hand with his own.

 “Now, how about fear?”

 Derek’s fingers hovered over an orange crayon, and his hand started trembling. “I- I, please…”

 “I know this is hard, but it will make you feel better. I promise. Is it this one?” He pointed to the orange crayon, and Derek nodded. “Neon carrot? Who names these? Is this the way the fire looks when you remember it?”

 “Yes,” and Stiles placed the crayon in his hand.

 They kept going with the colors until Stiles felt they’d sufficiently covered all the necessary negative emotions. Then, Stiles grabbed a new sheet of paper. “This will be easier. Do you remember your mother’s favorite color? Your father’s?”

 Derek wiped his cheeks again. “I remember all of them.”

 “Okay, I need to shower, but this is what I want you to do while I’m in there. Take this paper, and fill it with the favorite colors of everyone you love. Doesn’t have to just be your family, it can be Stevie and me-”

 “You’re my family, too.”

 “I know. I know we are,” he said and kissed Derek’s forehead before retreating upstairs.

 

 ****

 

Stiles let the water run as hot as it would get before stepping under the spray, trying hard not to wince when the near scorching water hit the tender skin near his tailbone. Yep, definitely going to bruise. Still, he found that his ire at the events which transpired earlier in the evening had pretty much dissipated.

It was pretty hard to stay angry over some asshole’s inconsiderate note when Derek had been hurting so badly. Some things just take priority (even if the humiliation factor of falling off his SUV still remained).

The last of the shower gel in the bottle hit his palm with a comical squelch, and he found he couldn’t help but chuckle. Toilet humor may be juvenile, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also hilarious. He tossed the empty bottle over the shower curtain rod, laughing as it pinged off the bathroom mirror.

It was important to find humor in the little things in life. That was a lesson his mother taught him and one he took to heart.

“I hope that little exercise makes him feel better,” he said, thinking about Derek scribbling away on the picture downstairs.

He stretched out his legs while he sat on the shower seat, letting the water and the steam it created wash over him like a wave. God, he wished it was Thursday. Not only would he be on vacation for three weeks, but it would mean the next day was Friday, and he and Derek would finally be married. Okay, so saying it like that made it seem like they’d been engaged forever, not just eight months. It sure felt like forever. Kind of like when he was a kid, and his dad spilled the beans about going to Disneyland three days early. Stiles didn’t think those three days would ever be over.

Finally, when his fingertips had begun to wrinkle and the water started to turn tepid, Stiles turned off the water, carefully climbed out of the tub, and toweled off. He left his brace on the bathroom counter to give his skin a break from the material, which was not the best when it came to breathability. He needed a night off from it.

Choosing only a pair of gym shorts for bed (it was far too warm outside, and not much better inside- _Damn it, Derek. Why do we have the AC set at 80, not 70 like normal people_?), he shuffled downstairs where he found Derek in the kitchen. “I was going to put that away when I got home,” he said as he watched his fiancé sort through the remaining wedding supplies he’d picked up earlier, “but I thought-”

“Don’t worry about it. Where do you want this to go?” Derek asked with a smile, the sight of which relieved some of the anxious tension Stiles had been carrying in concern for him.

Stiles rubbed his forehead. “The green tote for the spools of ribbon and flowers. The blue tote for everything else.”

“Remind me again, the green is for…”

“Ceremony. Blue for reception.”

“That’s right,” Derek kissed him on the forehead as he moved past to carry the first armload of supplies to the craft room down the hall.

Stiles opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He was just about to pour a glass when Derek came back into the kitchen. He shook the bottle at him, “You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

The amber liquor made a strangely soothing glug sound as it swirled into the tumbler. He brought the glass to his lips and sighed as the refreshing liquid hit his tongue. Setting, the cup on the counter, he walked into the dining room, and picked up Derek’s picture. His hope for just a free flowing piece of art was dashed as Derek had taken a more structured approach to it, pulling out a ruler to give the piece a perfectly measured black border. He’d divided the paper into twenty-four sections, running diagonally across the page. Each person got a color, though some weren’t colored in. Okay, so it was more cerebral than the spirit of the exercise usually called for, but it had an architectural beauty to it.

He leaned into the touch as Derek hugged him from behind and rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder.

“My mother loved red. She had this favorite brand of lipstick she used to say was the perfect shade, said it had old Hollywood glamour. It had this matte finish, and she was right. She wore it everyday no matter what, called it her ‘war paint.’ The color made her look like Elizabeth Taylor, only with a darker complexion. She was first generation American. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Like my mom? That’s cute, Derek.”

“My grandfather, Norman was from London, and met my grandmother, Antonia on a vacation to Rome in the 1950’s. It’s a story for another night, but my mom looked just like her mother. Peter, looked like Norman. Anyway, they discontinued that shade of lipstick, and I don’t know if I’d ever seen her so upset. My dad, I remember, drove to every store from here to God, I think San Francisco that carried it, buying every tube in stock. She didn’t ask him to, but that was my dad for you.”

Stiles chuckled, “That’s really romantic.”

Derek nodded and went through the rest of the colors. “I...um- I didn’t know some colors,” he said pointing to the white sections on the page. “Like your dad and Melissa’s- well anyone in your family but Aggie’s actually.”

“My dad likes blue; Melissa likes peach.” He watched as Derek finished up the colors, diligently filling the blanks with the colors as Stiles said them aloud until the whole page was a vibrant mix of hues. Then, he handed the page to Stiles. “How do you feel?”

“Better. I feel a lot lighter.”

“Good. That was the point. It won't fix the pain, but think of it as emotional Advil." He looked back at the paper, "Where are you on this page?”

Derek blushed. “I’m the border.”

“Black really is your favorite color? I always thought you were joking. Why?”

“It’s the color of night, and there’s always been something so beautiful to me about night and the dark. Most people dismiss it as scary, but to me, it’s peaceful. Did I screw it up?”

Stiles took his hand. “Słoneczko, there’s no wrong way to do this. I would only be concerned if you weren’t on the page at all.”

“Look, I may have guilt issues and low self-esteem, but I don’t entirely hate myse- What are you doing?”

Stiles grinned and walked down the hall to grab a spare picture frame from the craft room. “Well,” he said, carefully securing the paper between the glass and cardboard backing, “where do you think this should go?”

“It’s nothing special. Really, you don’t need to hang it up.”

“Yes, I do. Tell me where it should go, and then I will tell you why I need to hang it up.”

“Right above the thermostat. We’ll move that piece of art somewhere else.”

“Okay,” and he swapped the new art with the vintage travel poster in the hallway. “You need this hanging up so that whenever you are having a day like today, you can walk past it and remind yourself about the way you feel right now. Because all these people on this paper,” he tapped the glass, “love you back. Even if they’re no longer with you; they still love you. Think about that when you feel alone. I promise it will hel-” Before he could finish his sentence, Derek took his face in his hands.

The roughness of Derek’s shorter than normal stubble, irritated his skin when he kissed him, but Stiles didn’t care. There was a needy desperation to his kiss that Derek didn’t have so often anymore, which wasn’t a bad thing. On the contrary, that familiar easiness that came through when Derek kissed him everyday felt like home. But on times like this, it only served to remind him of how much he loved Derek, how Stiles had found someone to love him with such ferocity.

He loved times like these.

 

 


	2. Three Popsicle Sticks Make a Solid Foundation

Stiles fidgeted with the cuffs on his dress shirt. Stupid cuffli- wait, lovely wonderful cuff-links. They were shaped like Yoda, which was really cute, and he knew Derek had looked everywhere for them.

But...it was hot as balls out, and he wanted to toss the suit jacket somewhere and roll up his sleeves. After all, he had delicious forearms. Derek had waxed poetically about them on several occasions.

As he waited for Derek to finish dressing and meet him in the lobby--they would be walking down the aisle together, each holding one of Stephen’s hands-- he leaned against the wall. God, he was nervous, felt like he could lose his stomach at any moment.

“Your tie is crooked,” his dad’s smug tone cut through his thoughts.

“I seem to remember saying the exact thing to you last year.”

John adjusted his tie for him, “Yeah, and I seem to remember telling you that one day you’d understand how nerve wracking getting married could be.”

Stiles gave a wry grin. “Indeed you did, Pops. Indeed you did.”

“Don’t lock your knees.”

“Well, I can only really lock one knee,” he said as he went back to fussing over the cuff-links. After a moment, his dad grabbed his hands, stilling him.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m getting married not accepting the Nobel Prize.”

John rolled his eyes and came to stand beside him, leaning against the wall just like his son. “Just because you didn’t cure world hunger, doesn’t mean that cultivating a relationship with someone, committing yourself to them in a pledge to make that relationship work no matter how hard it gets, and love them for the rest of your life isn’t a great achievement. It’s not as spectacular as winning an Oscar, but it’s far more beautiful.”

“Wow, Dad. That was, to quote Coach Finstock, ‘Profoundly philosophical.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only you would find a way to bring your old lacrosse coach into a touching father and son moment,” he sighed.

“You know me. I have to bring humor into every situation. 's part of my charm. But, thanks, Dad.” He looked over at the door on the other side of the room. Derek had five minutes before he would be late, and though Stiles was positive Derek would not run out on him, leaving him at the altar, there was a little bit of fear there, regardless.

John stuck the pin of his son’s boutonniere through the lapel of his jacket, wincing as he accidentally poked himself in the thumb. He shook out the pain and turned back to Stiles. “I wish your mother could see you right now. She’d be fussing over you like the mother hen she was, crying about how her baby was all grown up now. She’d tell you how handsome you look, and how happy she was that you found someone to make you happy.”

Stiles looked up to see his father wipe a tear away from his eye just as Aggie joined them in the lobby.

“Well I’ll tell him for her, from one mother to another. Come here,” she said pulling him into a tight embrace. “You look so handsome, Łajek.” She kissed his forehead.

“Dzięki, Babciu,” he smiled, dashing away a few tears of his own with the back of his hand.

“Handsome is an understatement. You look amazing.”

Ah there he was. Stiles looked over at Derek as he finally walked out of the other dressing room, and his mouth fell open. ‘Too hot- hot damn’ was the only way to describe the navy suit he wore. Perfectly tailored, he looked he belonged in a British spy film. Stiles silently volunteered to be his Moneypenny.

“Close your mouth, Stiles. You’ll catch flies,” his father joked.

“I...I,” he continued after a moment, “don’t even want to know how much you spent on that suit.”

Derek shook his head, “No, you really don’t.” He smoothed down Stiles’ lapels. “But look at you. Is that- You bought a three piece.”

“Yes, and I spent less than six hundred on everything I’m wearing.”

“Touché. Sorry it took me a little long to get ready,” he said, giving Stiles a soft peck on the lips. “Stevie was extra particular about his appearance today.”

As if on cue, Stephen came skipping out of the dressing room. “Tatuś, look at my dress! It’s beautiful. Look at its polka dots!” he squealed, twirling around to show off the lovely, peach dress. “And, and, and it has this soft ribbon on the collar. And my shoes have pink sparkles! Oh, and look at my head. Babcia Aggie made me a flower crown!”

Stiles knelt down and gave him a hug, even though, at eight years old, he was closer in height to most ten year olds. “You look very nice, Stevie. It’s a beautiful dress.”

“And Daddy let Auntie Erica do my makeup! I have pink eye-shadow.” He couldn’t contain his excitement, jumping up and down like the little kid he was. “He never lets me wear makeup outside cause I'm too little, but I feel like...I feel amazing.”

“Come on then, Amazing Stevie. Time to go.” Stiles waited for his dad and grandmother to retreat to their seats in the first row on his side. Then, he looked at Derek. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready for months.” They shared a quick kiss, which Stephen did not make gagging noises for, and once the music started and a string quartet version of "[Melt With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8SA4t_cfeA)"; began to play, they pushed open the doors.

 

Derek fought back both nerves and a few tears of joy as all the wedding guests stood. Between him and Stiles, Stephen skipped along, his beaming smile bright enough to light the world, and Derek couldn’t remember ever being so happy.

However, as they reached the end of the aisle, he had to stop at the empty first row of his side of the aisle, twelve LED candles sat on lonely chairs. A red one sat on the closest chair to the aisle, the only red one of the bunch. Next to it was a green one, also unique among the rest. Then followed purple, and two blue ones, a yellow one, pink, purple, then orange, blue, yellow and pink. He chanced a glance across the aisle to find the one to represent Stiles’ mother had also been changed to a colorful one. Hers was purple, like Laura’s and his cousin Marie’s were. He didn’t even know about this change, but it was perfect.

He found that he had to grab the back of his mother’s chair to keep from falling over when a sudden pang of grief hit him. As Stiles shared a hug with his father, grandparents and Melissa, Derek stood, saying silent words to empty seats. That is, until, he found himself wrapped in a crushing hug by Aggie.

“They’d be proud of you. Despite their losses, you grew up to be a responsible adult, a wonderful father, and you are so good to my Łajek.”

“Thanks, Aggie.”

She kissed his cheek and took Stephen’s hand to lead him to the seat next to her. Stiles crossed in front of him to stand on his side of the altar, hugging Scott, then Kira, then Heather, his friend from elementary school; he crossed to stand on his side, shaking first Isaac’s hand then Boyd’s. Erica never really cared much for decorum, and hugged him before kissing his nose as he stood next to her and faced Stiles.

He didn’t register much of what the officiant said; he was too busy rehearsing the vows he’d come up with that morning when he threw out the pathetic ones he’d spent all week on instead. Even though his mind was elsewhere, he stared at Stiles, enrapt.

His impossible eyelashes glistened with tears, and there were a few in the corners of his eyes. A healthy blush bloomed in his cheek; he smiled the whole time, and Derek thought Stiles had never looked so perfect.

“...their own vows,” the officiant’s voice snapped him from his reverie.

Whoa. That was close. He almost spaced out through everything.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, “you’re first.”

Oh yeah. “So, um...I started working on these last week, and I thought they were just the best vows ever, until this morning when I promptly tossed what I had written in the trash. See, I wanted them to be perfect, absolutely perfect, but if I learned anything from my proposal, it's that perfect doesn’t work, and no matter how much you practice, you still won’t be able to say them right. This is rubbish.”

Nervous laughter broke out among the guests.

He backpedaled.“No! I don’t mean the wedding. This is beautiful, lovely. I mean-” He stopped to collect himself.” Stiles, love shouldn’t be perfect. It’s not carefully practiced declarations of emotions, the way movies would have us believe. It’s often messy and brilliant. Sometimes, it’s the quiet desperate need of a lover’s kiss, but sometimes… sometimes it’s just crayons and a sheet of paper. Sadness may be grey like a storm cloud, but love- love is eggplant and navy, indigo with little specks of pure white, black with the yellow glow of streetlamps. Love is night, and it comes every day without fail. Stiles, you’re pink, lilac, baby blue and heather grey. You’re the color of dawn, and you, like the night, are there every day.” He squeezed Stiles' hand lightly.

 

Stiles shuffled through his cards. “Well, after that wonderful speech, these are pretty much crap, but here goes.” He took a deep breath, “Derek, when I was younger, my mother, the eternal art teacher that she was, tried to teach me about beauty. She said that everyone has beauty, and most people keep theirs for their whole lives. Now she wasn’t talking about the physical, superficial and external type of beauty. No, she meant it like a state of being, the way you felt inside. She said, that even though I...was a bit of a punk--heh, I still kinda am, but that is beside the point-- she said that I had beauty in me, and she encouraged me to get it out of me for the world to see. It didn’t matter if it was with Play-doh, drawing, painting or clay. I needed to show the world all I was. I embraced that idea wholly until one day in fourth grade, and she wasn’t doing too well anymore, but one day I went home to tell her that Scotty was in love with some fifth grade girl with perfect hair and was going to marry her one day.”

The guests broke out into polite laughter.

“I know right. Newsflash, that wasn’t Kira. The crush lasted all of two weeks, but that is also not the point. That day, I asked her about love, and how did people know they were in love. I’ll never forget what she said either. She sat me down on the seat in the living room’s bay window and said that one day I would meet a special boy--and she knew way before I ever realized it, that it would indeed be a special boy not girl--and he would change the beauty inside me. He would make it softer, warmer, would round its sharp edges. That was love, and with it, I would make something that would be more important than anything else I would make in my life.

He looked out at their friends and family. “And she actually meant to make something tangible, not like an idea. Anyway, I took what she said with a grain of salt at the time, because it wasn’t pertinent. Until one day... it was.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the snowflake ornament he helped Stephen make the day he met Derek. “This, this is it. I know to the rest of you it looks like a few Popsicle sticks and glitter, but this is the most important thing I have ever made or helped make in my life.

“This is a snowflake ornament, and the day I helped make this one, I helped make at least a hundred of these. You know how they say no two snowflakes are alike? It’s true; I don’t remember any other one I helped with that day only this one. The funny thing about this one? I never told you this, Derek, but I was supposed to leave work fifteen minutes earlier that day, but I didn’t, and I don’t know why. I also don’t know why Stevie decided to come to _my_ table either. I like to think it was my mom, because if I hadn’t stayed. We wouldn’t be here. We probably wouldn’t have met.”

He showed the ornament to their guests. “So to all of you, this probably just looks like a child’s craft, but to me,” he looked at the ornament with reverence, “I see three Popsicle sticks. One for you, one for Stevie, and one for me. I don’t know about you, Derek, but that seems like one hell of a foundation for making a lifetime of beautiful things.” Stiles licked his lips and looked at Derek, mouthing ‘I love you.’

“If that is your definition of crap, Stiles, I’d love to hear what you think is good,” Derek’s cheeks flushed, and Stiles couldn’t help but fall a little more in love with him in that moment.

“Ah well, not bad for pulling that together Wednesday during my lunch break.” Stiles shrugged as, this time, everyone laughed in earnest.

The officiant cleared his throat and smiled as he spoke of the symbolism in a wedding band. Then, he called for the rings and addressed Derek. “Derek, if you would slip Stiles’ band onto his ring finger and repeat after me. ‘My love for you is in this ring, and with it, I promise to be your faithful husband.’”

“Stiles, my love for you is in this ring, and with it,I promise to be your faithful husband.”

"I promise to love you through everything, good, bad, difficult and easy. I promise you my unwavering trust.”

Derek wiped his eyes. “I promise to love you through everything, good, bad, difficult and easy. I promise you my unwavering trust.”

“When you look at your ring, remember I will love you always.”

“When you look at your ring, remember I will love you always,” Derek pressed his lips together into a closed mouth smile.

When it was Stiles’ turn, he stopped the officiant. “Well, Gary,” he said, “I memorized this bit. Derek,” he slipped Derek’s ring onto his finger, “my love for you is in this ring, and with it, I promise to be your faithful husband. I promise to love you through everything, good, bad, difficult and easy. I promise you my unwavering trust. When you look at your ring, remember I will love you always.”

 Gary shook his head with a chuckle. “Well done.”

 Stiles winked. “I try.”

 “Now, by the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your husband.”

 Stiles fist pumped, then beckoned Derek closer, and just before their lips met, Derek whispered, “You’re a menace.”

 “Yeah, and you married me.”

 “Damn right I did,” he said, and cupping Stiles’ chin, closed the distance. Just a simple press of lips together at first, Derek’s tongue traced along Stiles’ bottom lip. He felt weak in the knees, and for once, it had nothing to do with his leg. He couldn’t stop himself when he gasped, not that he’d want to, as Derek’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He would have loved for the moment to last forever, but pulled back, smiling.

 “Friends and family, I present to you the Stilinski-Hale’s.”

 

****

 

The lights on the dance floor dimmed, and before the DJ could call for the first dance, Derek rubbed the back of Stiles’ neck. Even a year later, dancing was still difficult for him. He leaned over and nosed along the shell of Stiles’ ear. “Just let me do most the work. Lean into me as much as you need. I won’t let you fall; I’ll never let you fall.”

“You said that to me at my dad and Melissa’s wedding, too.” Stiles took a sip from his champagne.

“It’s as true today as it was then,” he said, caressing Stiles’ cheek.

On the other side of him, Erica gave him a playful shove. “Get a room, you two.”

“Already have one, thanks,” Derek smirked at her. “I don’t think I told you earlier, but you look really beautiful in your dress.”

He recognized the warm smile she gave him as one of gratitude. “Thank you. I’m so happy for you, for you both. God, I remember your face when I visited you in the hospital after the fire. It looked like you’d never be happy again. Then you left, and school wasn’t the same.”

“Yeah, but I kept in touch,” he said, remembering their somewhat one-sided phone conversations when he was in New York, in which Erica talked his ear off and he said maybe ten words. However, it helped, and slowly he started saying more. He was pretty sure he was the first person she told about hers and Boyd’s first date. The two of them talked on the phone for hours that night. She held his hand as he went through the torture of, once more, burying a loved one after Laura was killed. He told her about Jennifer (both the beginning and end of that relationship), and Erica showed up with Boyd in tow mere hours after Stephen was born. He knew the last minute plane tickets cost them a fortune, but that’s the way their friendship had been from the beginning. They went the extra mile for each other--he’d given her the money to help start her salon, insisting that she need never pay him back. She, in turn, promised him and Stephen free haircuts for life--all the time. Derek only wished he’d been brave enough to tell her about Kate. Maybe he’d have the courage now.

“Then Laura- but when you moved back, you looked a little happier. But after you met Stiles, every day your eyes grew a little brighte-”

Before she could finish, he wrapped his arms around her shoulder and held her close. “You’ve been my best friend since we were nine years old. You were my only friend for a long time, but you’re more than that. You’re my sister now. I hope you know.”

“I do.”

“And I love you.”

“I know.”

He furrowed his brows at her. “As my husband would say,” his scowl disappeared, turning into a face splitting grin, “my husband, wow. That just sounds amazing. Stiles would say, you just Han Solo’d me.”

“Yep, and that would make you Princess Leia.”

He tried to pretend Stiles’ hysterical laughter was over something else. It didn’t work, as soon, tears of mirth worked their way down his cheeks.

The feedback of the DJ’s microphone cut through the din, and soon the room grew quiet. “If I could have everyone’s attention to the dance floor for the happy couple’s first dance as a married couple.”

Derek linked arms with Stiles, guiding him to the center of the floor. Unlike a year before, they had no intricate dance planned, and to be honest, he couldn’t remember which song Stiles had picked. It had been a hectic week, okay?

But as soon as the [words](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOLTrrcWE5c) began, he remembered Stiles sliding him a copy of the lyrics. They, as he recalled, fit the two of them perfectly.

 

_“I know you've been hurt, by someone else._

_I can tell by the way you carry yourself._

_But if you'll let me, here's what I'll do._

_I'll take care of you.”_

 

His right hand at Stiles’ waist held him firmly against Derek’s body, and yeah, he could feel him struggling a little. A promise, though, was a promise. So, he continued to bear most of Stiles’ weight. He was fine with that.

On the back of his neck, Stiles’ thumb drew little circles against his skin. Derek had always been happy that the two of them were almost the same height. It meant when they danced, they really were, as Irving Berlin wrote, ‘cheek to cheek,’ and right now, Derek melted into the way he could feel Stiles’ body heat radiating from his skin. He leaned into the touch, rotating them a quarter turn as they swayed back and forth.

Being alone on a dance floor, was not something he’d experienced before, and truly, there was something magical about it, about the way it gave the illusion of being completely alone as if no one else but the two of them existed. As clichéd as it sounded, time really did seem to stand still.

It was amazing, but eventually, their moment had to come to an end, and after:

_“And just as sure, one and one is two,_

_I just got, I got to take care of you._

_I just got to take care of you, take care of you.”_

 

filled the room, the DJ faded the song out before the lengthy guitar solo. Derek didn’t want to separate, not at all, though he pulled back, and placed a gentle kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “See? Told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” he whispered, smirking when he felt him shiver from the hot breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. “When we’re done with both our dances, come see me. I have something to give you.”

“Ooh, more surprises? What did you get me?”

“You’ll have to wait.” He kissed his husband’s temple, nodding to John as he passed him.

Stiles had been adamant this time, since he was vetoed for his father and Melissa’s wedding, that he get to dance with his dad. Polkas, Stiles said, were easy with his disability. Basically, it amounted to a bunch of hopping around with a bit of style. So Derek watched, amused as the rest of the guests surely were, while Stiles and John danced to “[Beer Barrel Polka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbotaEmgFm4).”  There was nothing like hearing the words ‘Roll out the barrel’ to get a party started.

It surely was an unusual dance for a wedding, well, for one of the parent dances anyway. Then again, Stiles was dancing with his father. So unusual was perfectly at home for this.

“I hate to say it, but your husband is a dork,” Erica said, sidling up next to him and linking her arm with his.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re stuck with him.”

Derek could actually feel himself smiling like a doofus, absolutely giddy at that fact. “I know. Isn’t it awesome?”

The song came to a close, and as the next one started, she squeezed his bicep. “What do you say, Derek? Want to stay under my [umbrella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcKaTTFRDT4)?”

“Ella, ella, eh, eh, eh.”

They immediately burst out laughing. When first they’d picked this song, it was kind of a joke, because Erica had been obsessed with it back in the day. Obsessed with a capital ‘O’. But it suited them.

 

 

 

 

Stiles flopped down in a chair, winded from the high energy dance. His father, equally out of breath, sat beside him. “I don’t know about you, Pops, but that was a lot of work...and a ton of fun.”

“Yeah. Remind me again why we didn’t fight harder for a father son dance at my wedding?”

Stiles scratched his chin. “Because you and I both concede that Melissa usually knows what’s best?”

John pointed at him. “Yes, you’re correct. But you are also heavy.”

Stiles felt the back of his neck flame, the embarrassed flush quickly spreading to his cheeks. “Sorry about that. I really thought I could handle polkaing.”

“Don’t sweat it, Son. It was worth it.” John took a sip from his whiskey, after clinking their glasses together. “So remind me again. How did Derek meet Erica again?”

“She sat next to him through most of third grade.”

“That’s nice, that both of you still have friendships from when you were little.”

He nodded, “Yeah.” As the song wore on--and “Umbrella”? Really? Rhianna was not Derek’s usual taste in music. Stiles suspected Erica had quite a bit of influence on the choice--nervous excitement ran through his veins. He felt like a kid at Christmas, but he also hoped it wasn’t extravagant.

“Hey.”

Stiles looked up to see Derek standing in front of him. “Hey, Kochanie.”

Derek extended his hand and helped him to his feet. “Come on.”

“I admit, I am all pins and needles about this. So is it better than the Yoda cuff-links? Better than the honeymoon to see the Louvre?” When Derek didn’t respond right away he continued to guess. “New XBox? A lifetime supply of Chuck Taylors? Thousands of dollars in professional art supplies? Come on, Derek. You’re killing me.”

 

They stopped in the corner, away from the party a bit but not entirely private. The gift was burning a hole in Derek’s pocket. He took his hand, “Stiles’,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket, “this is so much more than any of those things.” He handed the envelope to Stiles and waited with bated breath for him to open it. “This is the greatest thing I could ever give you.”

There was an audible gasp, Stiles covered his mouth. “Derek,” his words were barely more than a whisper. “You… you’re serious?”

“I know we’re already a family, but,” he nodded, “I want you to adopt Stevie. You’re every bit his father as I am, and you should be his parent on paper too.”

Stiles crushed him in a hug, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t even speak, just nodded emphatically into Derek’s neck, holding him close for several minutes, before pulling back to kiss him senseless.

Finally, Stiles found his voice again. “You’re right. Way better than anything else.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Stiles rubbed their noses together. “I told you it would be yes a year ago. My answer is still the same.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “Let’s go find Stevie and make his day.”

 

 

 

Melissa, her feet tired from dancing, sat down in her chair at the table she shared with her husband, grandchildren and Claudia’s parents.

“So, Grandma,” Stephen said, stuffing his face with a second piece of cake...wait, that was his third piece-- _Oh, God. He's going to be up all night, high on sugar--_ , “are we really going to Disneyland when Daddy and Tatuś are on their honeymoon?”

Melissa choked on her drink. “Who told you that?”

“Grandpa. He spilled the beans.” He cupped his hand beside his mouth and said around a mouthful of cake, "You know, he's  not very good about keeping secrets."

She elbowed her husband under the table. “You really shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, Stevie. You're going to choke, and it's not polite.”

He rolled his eyes, but took a drink of his lemonade and swallowed. “So is it true? Can we all get Mickey Mouse ears? Well, I want Minnie Mouse ears, and you can be Minnie too, if you want. Oh, oh, oh! Let’s make Grandpa get a Goofy hat. No! I have a better idea. You know that wizard in that boring _Fantasia_ movie? You know his hat? The one Mickey wears?” He practically bounced in his chair with excitement.

“Yes.”

Stephen’s eyes took on an elfin gleam, and even though he wasn’t Stiles’ biological child, she could swear she’d seen that exact same look on her stepson’s face over the years. “Let’s make him a wizard!” He turned to John. “Won’t that be so much fun, Grandpa? You can be wizard Mickey.”

John furrowed his brows. “Why don’t you like _Fantasia_?”

Stephen crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer my question, Grandpa, and I asked you first.”

“Yes, I think that sounds like fun,” he looked over at his wife. “I’m sorry I let the cat out of the bag. He wore me down.”

“He’s eight.”

“Eight and a quarter,” Stephen corrected her.

"You’ve talked to him to before!" John looked to be at a total loss. “He can be  _very_ persuasive.”

Stephen stopped his eating when he saw his dads approaching the table, and he stood up on his chair so that he was eye level with them both. “Guess what, Daddy? I get to go to Disneyland! I’m gonna make Grandpa go on Splash Mountain like a million times,” he squealed, jumping up and down on the chair. “He’s gonna get so sick. And I bet he’ll buy me so much cotton candy! Then I will get sick, and my barf will be blue! Won't that be awesome? Then, I’m gonna take like a hundred pictures. No, more like a million, or a billion pictures! And I’m gonna get a kiss from Princess Jasmine. You and Tatuś are gonna be sooooo jealous you aren’t at Disneyland too. Instead of silly museums looking at pictures of a bunch of dead people.”

“I don’t think they can kiss you, Stevie.”

“Well fine. I’m going to get a picture with her, and I will hang it on my wall.”

“Princess Jasmine is your favorite?” John asked. “I always liked Belle.”

“You liked Belle, because she looked like Mom.”

Melissa chuckled at her husband’s sheepish expression.

“Guilty as charged.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I’m not up to date on my Disney Princesses. Do they have a Hispanic Princess yet?” Melissa shook her head. "Though I guess, now that you mention it, Princess Jas-”

“Duh, Grandpa. Jasmine is the prettiest Princess. Amy thinks so too, and if Amy say so, then it must be true, because she's the smartest kid in her class. Plus, best friends don’t lie.”

Stiles grabbed his father’s tumbler of whiskey and took a sip. “Prince Eric was loads prettier,” he chuckled into the glass.

Through teary eyes from laughing so hard, Melissa watched Derek place both hands on his son’s shoulders to stop him from jumping on the chair. “I’m sure you will have lots of fun. But, Stevie, I think Tatuś has something to tell you.”

Stiles leaned in and whispered something in Stephen’s ear. Within seconds, an ear splitting squeal of joy filled the room. 

“Really? You are? For real?”

“Really, really.”

Stephen practically jumped into Stiles’ arms, the latter, barely managing to keep from falling over from momentum. Soon, Stephen started to cry.

“Are those happy tears?”

“The happiest. I get to have two daddies for real, and when people say ‘He isn’t really your dad,’ I can say ‘He is too. He adopted me.”

The two person embrace quickly turned into a group hug, filled with a mix of laughter and tears.

****

 

Stephen fiddled with the ribbon on his dress as he looked for Amy. He'd only seen her like five minutes ago. Where could she have gone?

Instead, _she_ found _him_. Or more accurately, tapped his shoulder, scaring him half to death before grabbing his wrist. "Come on. I talked to the music man. He said he'll play us a song."

"No, wait! Guess what, guess what, guess what!" he squealed, jumping up and down. He put his hands on her shoulders. "You are never gonna guess!"

"Did you get a bajillion dollars? Because that would be super sweet. Think of all the stuff we could get for our American Girl Dolls, um... our American Dolls! The bistro set and the pastry cart!"

"No, but that would be pretty cool, especially the spa chair. Alex likes getting his nails done just like me. But guess!" she opened her mouth to speak but he couldn't hold back any longer. "Daddy asked Tatuś to adopt me, and he said yes!"

Amy crushed him in a hug, and then just as quickly, she tugged him towards the dance floor. He struggled to keep up. His sparkly pink shoes, though he loved them and how they made him a little taller, the back of them dug into his foot. "Amy, slow down. My feet hurt."

"So," she said, lifting the hem of her full length blue dress--Stephen thought she looked like a princess in it--revealing her bare feet, "take them off. It's more fun to dance without them anyway." 

"I can't. I'll ruin my tights."

Amy put her hands on her hips, her black curls bouncing off her shoulders. "So take them off too."

His jaw hit the floor, and his eyes bugged out of his head. "Here?" he shouted.

"No, silly," she stuck her tongue out at him, "come on." Once more she tugged on his arm. This time, they walked towards the nearest table and both crawled under it. The tablecloth gave them privacy, and made the perfect tent. "Will this work?"

"Yeah." Stephen turned around, which was hard to do when sitting, and first, removed his shoes, before he shimmied out of his tights. Then, he faced her again and sat cross legged on the floor. "This is cool. It's like a clubhouse."

Amy flopped over on her stomach, legs bent at the knee as she tapped her toes in the air. "I know. Too bad we don't have snacks."

"Or flashlights." She sat up, almost smacking her head on the crossbars on the underside of the table. "I have an idea." Before he had a chance to react, she had vanished back under the tablecloth. What in the world...

Not even a minute later, he watched, with eyebrows drawn together, as his best friend returned to their 'clubhouse' with a couple centerpieces. He forgot what Tatuś had called them. Fiber something. Whatever. He thought they looked like plastic dandelions when they turned white and lost their seeds. Well, except that there was a little light in these things that changed colors. They were neat.  

He looked around as the little fiber...thingies cast specks of colorful light all around the inside of their tent. While one centerpiece was shining blue, the other pink. It was beautiful.

"Wow. It reminds me of Elsa's castle," Amy said; the light looked like sparkles on her skin.

With her dress, she looked a bit like Elsa too. He told her as much. "But...um, you're prettier than Elsa." Why did his stomach feel funny when he told her that? It was the same way his tummy felt when he went on roller coasters. It was the truth though. Don't tell Hava, but Stephen was sure Amy was the prettiest girl in the world. 

"Really?"

"Uh huh," he nodded. He liked when she smiled. It made him happy. Best friends should always be happy.

Suddenly, the song changed, and it was like Amy had forgotten completely about it. "Oh, oh, oh! This is my song. Come on. We don't want to miss it."

They crawled out of the tent, just in time for Amy to grab his hand and skip to the dance floor. Together, they jumped and twirled, laughing and singing along with Elsa, until the very end of the song when they pretended to collapse onto the floor.

"Amy?" he asked, staring up at the spinning disco ball.

"Yeah?"

"What else should we put in our clubhouse?" He stood and helped pull her to her feet.

"Hm," she tapped her mouth with her index finger, "do you think we could sneak into the kitchen and find snacks?"

"Probably." When she reached down and took his hand, that weird feeling was back, and they were halfway to the kitchen, she stopped.

"Okay. Now, we're secret agents on a top secret mission to find candy. What is your code name? I'm Dr. Sparkles."

"Um..." How should he know what his code name should be? Instead, he picked the first word to come to mind. "Dandelion."

She pressed a pretend button on her bracelet. "Activating stealth mode." She took a step, but then turned around and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for telling me I'm prettier than Elsa, and for dancing with me." And just like that she was back to Secret Agent mode, while he stood there, staring after her, hand frozen on his cheek where her lips had been.

 

****

Stiles and Derek, both having shed their clothes except underwear, fell into bed. Stiles intertwining their fingers together and brought Derek’s hand to his lips. “I hate to break it to you, but I am beat. We’ll have to have morning sex instead of wedding night sex.”

Derek yawned. “I agree completely.”

“Well, how does it feel to be Mr. Stilinski-Hale?”

Derek rolled from his back to his side, holding their clasped hands between their chests. “Well, Mr. Stilinski-Hale, I say it feels pretty good.”

“Yes, my handsome husband, it certainly does.”

Derek’s lips curled into giddy smile. “You married me.”

With a wink and a smirk, Stiles said, “Damn right I did.”

 

 


End file.
